Wednesday, December 8, 2010

Day One.

When I was eight years old, I would write short stories on my parent's old typewriter. I don't have the faintest recollection of the content, or writing style. I just remember writing for hours, it was during that time I knew I was going to be a writer.

Math and science seemed menial in the universe of writing, and I adopted those ideas into school. This way of thinking continued in college, and I got straight below average grades. But when I came down to it, I couldn't wrap my head around the way letters could even function as numbers. To me those beautiful letters didn't belong in a math book. It felt like the letters were cheating on the great works they'd once previously resided.

Six months from now, I will graduate with a B.A. in Creative Writing, and I still have trouble from overdrawing on my bank account.